


Something for the Pain

by Avice



Series: The Constant [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frottage, Love, M/M, Romance, Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:26:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avice/pseuds/Avice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is struggling to forgive Sherlock for being away. Together they find a cure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Something for the Pain

“You did that to me? You could do that to me? How could you? How could you, Sherlock?” They are standing face to face. John beats Sherlock's chest, gripes him hard by the arm, pushes him. But the other hand holds tightly, desperately on to Sherlock's hand. “Sherlock, don't do that to me. Don't do it, I can't take it. Please, Sherlock, I can't bear it.” He breaks into violent sobs and buries his face against Sherlock. Sherlock pulls him tightly against himself, stroking John's head, kissing it.  
“I'm sorry, John. I'm so sorry.”

It is impossible to let go. John wants to fight Sherlock, push him off, hit him, cause him the pain he's been through, but they haven't touched each other for too long. Not feeling each other is unthinkable. John and Sherlock fall onto the bed just holding each other as close as they can. He's back. He's here. I can feel him, touch him. It's over. Sherlock is alive. Sherlock has come back for him. He is so tired, exhausted. He is alive. His head against Sherlock's chest he can feel the heart beat, slow and steady. The pain is over. Sherlock is back. He asked for Sherlock to not be dead and he wasn't. Sherlock will always be there. The comfort of closeness slowly calms John down. Clasping on to Sherlock, his body immersed in Sherlock's embrace John falls asleep. A dreamless tranquillity at last.

Sherlock holds him without stirring, strokes his back, kisses his hand. Finally at peace. Finally bathing in the light again. Finally close to John again. It was all worth it. John is alive. 

\-- 

John wakes up in Sherlock's arms, just where he was. Sherlock strokes his forehead gently, watches him. John leans on his elbow to get a good look at Sherlock.  
“You came back.”   
“I will always come back for you, John.”  
John traces his finger over Sherlock's face, his shoulders, his arm. Exploring, convincing himself. This is Sherlock. He is back.  
“I'd rather you didn't leave.” He looks into Sherlock's eyes in earnest. “Just don't fucking leave!”   
“I had to. But I won't again. I promise. I'm sorry, John. But I had to.” Something glistens in the corner of his eye. John catches it with his finger. He kisses Sherlock deeply. How he has missed this taste. The feel of Sherlock's gorgeous lips against his. The curious tongue, the expert licks. The only mouth worth kissing. 

The kiss grows hungrier, it grows greedy. Their bodies need to feel each other. Why are they still clothed, why are they wasting precious time without touching each other completely. They undress each other hurriedly, kissing and touching all over, wherever they get the chance. 

There is not a moment to lose. Their naked bodies press against each other as close as possible, even closer. Any distance between their skins hurts. Their ready cocks find each other, pressing against their bodies, touching each other. They rock against each other in a desperate passionate rhythm eyes open, their mouths locked together in hungry kisses, their hands wrapped around each other holding the other closer. They must get closer, they must get harder. Their bodies thrust against each other and melt into one as they come at the same time seeing their own orgasm reflecting from the other's eyes, breathing their moans into each other's mouths.

They continue to lie like that, close to each other, holding on to each other. Not able to let go. Their mixed load staining stomachs and sides.   
“Sherlock?”  
“Hmm?”  
“You smell really bad.”  
Sherlock laughs.  
“The clothes were filthy.”  
“Come on then.” John pulls Sherlock up and into the bathroom. 

They lather soap onto each other gently and conscientiously. Tracing each other's skin, getting to know it again. They are both thinner, Sherlock's body more muscular as if he'd endured a lot physically. There are new scars, new bruises. Some of them could have been fatal. He would have never heard. No one would have known to tell him. John shudders despite the hot water pouring down.  
“So... where you've been?” he asks.  
“Catching the bad guys, love.”  
“They're caught now?”  
“Mostly. The worst any way,” Sherlock confirms and adds in excitement: “God, can't wait to get back to an interesting murder or a creative kidnapping! I've caught my share of thugs. Have you heard about anything interesting?”

John can't help but laugh. He turns off the shower and grabs a towel. Firmly he starts to dry Sherlock off, first reaching for the hair Sherlock bowing his head slightly, then John spreads his arms, pats his back and finally fondles the groin with the towel which makes Sherlock harden.   
“A case then? Yeah, there might be something. I still have the blog you know.”  
“I know, I've been reading it. More like an obituary nowadays though and not a very interesting one at that. You should try to be more positive, John,” he quips.  
“Well, I had a bout of severe depression. Not in a mood for positive,” John's tone is light but the look he gives Sherlock passes the message. He kisses John and hugs him tightly.  
“So...?” Sherlock asks.  
“So, there was this lady writing about very curious goings on in a flat she rents.”   
“Mrs. Hudson?”  
“Haha, very funny. Have you told her?”  
“No, I came straight to you, when I knew it was safe. I did include a message to Lestrade in my latest package, which he should've gotten by now.” As on cue there is a knock on the door. “That would be him.”

John puts on a dressing gown to let Lestrade in.  
“John, glad I found you at home. Have you heard...” the question is interrupted by Sherlock exiting the bathroom with only the towel around him. “You have then. Good.” Lestrade's awkward. He doesn't know which way to look.  
“I have. Apparently he's been away to catch the bad guys. That's all. We needn't have worried,” John explains sarcastically ignoring Lestrade's discomfort.  
“Aha – so it was you! I always thought there was something familiar in the anonymous tips we've been getting,” Lestrade beams until he remembers the situation his in. “So, you two... then. Okay. Well. Good for you.” Both John and Sherlock are amused. They never intentionally hid their relationship, but didn't broadcast it either. Neither one of them felt the need for public displays or announcements. When there's a case they focus on it. Admittedly, there was also some fun in keeping everyone guessing. 

“I assume you won't be pressing any fraud charges against a dead man?” Sherlock inquires.  
“Hadn't even thought about that. Phew. I'll try not to. Sounds like an awful lot of unnecessary work. Besides we just got fresh evidence that Moriarty was not a figment of your imagination,” Lestrade says with a wink. “Glad to have you back, Sherlock,” he offers his hand and they shake on it. “Well, I'll be leaving you two to it,” with that he's out the door and is immediately regretting his choice of words.  
“John?” Sherlock looks quizzically at John.  
“Sherlock?”  
“The case, John – tell me all about it. Really, John, you still can't keep up,” he grumbles but with a smile on his lips.  
John is happy to. Sherlock is back unchanged. 

\--

The case is interesting enough: a lodger changed over night and chased by a South American criminal league, lovers in danger. Something is different however. John is not so enthused. He feels like a fraud somehow. Faking it. Sherlock notices it. He's worried.

They move back to Baker Street. They would both need their own space, especially with Sherlock's unconventional day pattern, but John hasn't been able to return to his room upstairs. He still needs the stick. The leg hurts, it's unreliable. He wakes up screaming seeing Sherlock's dead, bloody, bruised face smiling at him in his dreams. 

Sherlock has told him where he was. He has explained his reasons, the path of deductions. It's all perfectly reasonable, but John is not convinced. He is glad that Sherlock managed to find a way not to die. But why didn't he trust John, tell him where he was. How could he let him suffer so much? How could he watch him suffer? He looks at Sherlock trying to find an explanation. Knows the reasons, trying to make it make sense, trying to make it right and acceptable.  
“John?”  
He jolts.  
“Yes?”  
“If you don't understand it, I doubt staring at me will help.”  
“Understand what?”  
Sherlock turns to look at him.  
“You don't understand how I could leave you and watch you believe I was dead.”  
John turns his gaze away from him.  
“No, I don't. If you love someone you just don't do that,” he shoots.

Sherlock sits up on the sofa.   
“I don't know how people usually love each other. Frankly, I don't really care. I only know how I love you,” the blue eyes looking steady at him, ”John, I love you so that I'm willing to sacrifice both our happiness, for a while, to keep us and our love alive. I would always rather have you alive than happy. Happiness can be regained. Life can't.” It is perfectly logical.  
“But why didn't you tell me, Sherlock? Why didn't you tell me on the phone from the roof or come over at the cemetery or I don't know – text me?” John appeals incredulously.  
“I wasn't the only one watching you, John. I would've been seen. And if you'd stopped grieving, there were people who would've seen that too. So I couldn't. Even if you'd known, I couldn't have been with you – that would've been too dangerous.”  
John sighs.  
“I know all that. I know it in my head. I just can't... Shit,” John tries to hold back the tears, “I was so hurt. You hurt me Sherlock. Worse than anybody ever.”

Sherlock moves over to kneel in front of where John's sitting.  
“I am sorry for your hurt. But what can I say? I'm not sorry for what I did. I would do it again.”  
John nods unable to speak for a minute. He steadies himself and clears his throat.  
“Don't, okay? If you ever pull something like that again, I will kill myself, if the hit men fail,” he says attempting to sound chipper.  
“I won't. I don't think even those idiots would be stupid enough to fall for it a second time.”   
The discussion is difficult for Sherlock. John's disappointment and hurt seem so irrational to him, it's all too vague, but he tries for John's sake. It's the least he owes him.  
“That just means the next time you die will be for real. Now that's a relief,” John's eyes well up with tears. He lifts his hand against his face, doesn't want Sherlock to see. As if that would be possible.   
“Please, John, don't be stupid,” Sherlock grunts uncertainly patting John's thigh. “The greatest criminal mind in history wanted me dead and here I am. I'd be lucky to meet a fiend as ingenious again. No, we'll have decades together where you can hold this stunt over my head and make me do anything you want.”  
John can't help but chuckle.  
“You're a right bastard, you know that,” he smiles at Sherlock who smiles back relieved. He kisses John.  
“True, but I'm your bastard.”

“Come here then, you ass,” John pulls Sherlock close and kisses him passionately. They both are eager and excited.   
“You filthy, disloyal little fuck,” John continues as he pulls Sherlock's shirt over his head not bothering with opening all buttons. Sherlock tears off John's sweater kissing him hungrily. “You foul piece of shit.”   
John's dirty but playful rebuke turns them both on. Sherlock's loving it, seeing John in charge, each earful making him harder. He's kissing John's torso as he continues cursing him. 

He tries to open John's pants but John kicks him gently away. “I think you know what's coming your way, you nasty bugger.” As Sherlock scrambles off his pants, John reaches for the lube in the drawer. “Oh yeah, you're really going to get it, you ass hole.” They both snicker at the appropriate wording. John lubes his finger properly as Sherlock gets down on all fours and sticks it in Sherlock's ass without warning, stretching and lubing him all the while spewing insults. Sherlock is already groaning with delight. John opens his pants and pushes in, all the way in. They both gasp for breath at the sensation. 

John starts to move in slow, long strokes and reaches for Sherlock's cock. “You like this don't you, you dirty prick.” Sherlock is only able to moan his ascent. John's hand around Sherlock starts to move faster, but the thrusts in his ass stay slow. Sherlock is loving it, hardly controlling himself. Just as he is about to come, John stops stroking him, but holds on and speeds up behind him. He slaps Sherlock's ass once, twice. Sherlock is shivering in ecstasy. John isn't able to speak coherently any more but mumbles unintelligible profanities. He comes howling, slapping Sherlock's arse once more. John pulls out, panting against Sherlock's back. He makes Sherlock turn around to lie on his back and lies next to him finishing him off with his hand. Sherlock's back arches and a happy quaver passes his lips. 

Sherlock takes him in his arms, pulls him close. The coarse carpet is uncomfortable against their bare skins. He kisses John: “Well, doctor, thanks. I feel better already.” John grins. He feels better too. They kiss.   
“Didn't know I had it in me,” he admits.  
“I thought there might be something under that calm exterior... Healer I believe you have healed yourself,” Sherlock establishes.  
“What do you mean?”  
“Oh, John, John,”Sherlock shakes his head, “you sure don't pay attention when you're fucking like a delirious beast – resting firmly on your knees,” he points out.  
John looks at his legs with carpet burns on the knees and bursts into laughter which Sherlock can't help but join.


End file.
